


I Found My Soul In You

by RebelAce16



Series: Mystrade Fics [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And so will we, F/M, For the better in my opinion, M/M, Multi, Probably in detail, Sloooooow Burn, There will be changes, These characters will suffer, mostly canon, oh well, somewhat AU, very slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2020-03-01 09:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18797500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelAce16/pseuds/RebelAce16
Summary: Gregory Lestrade stumbles across a junkie in an alley when he's just a young detective constable, and offers him some basic human decency, never expecting to see him again. But over time that moment of kindness brought him happiness and a life with his soulmate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is Sherlock and Greg meeting, and just kinda like a prologue.

**Chapter One**

         Gregory Lestrade had been a Detective Constable for a solid year by the time he stumbled across the boy sleeping in the ally by his flat. At first, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but after a long moment of studying the shape in dark, he made out what looked like a teen, baby faced and scrawny from the glimpse he got in the dark. Greg sighs and turns away from the door, walking over quietly to check on the lad, crouching down and gently nudging him.

         For a few minutes, he didn’t respond, and Greg’s heart grew heavy, fearing the worst. He tried to find a pulse, but he was so tightly wrapped in what clothing he had that it was next to impossible to get anything moved enough to check. It was as he dug out his phone to call in a body, the boy started coming ‘round, groaning and twitching a little, which dislodged a syringe that had been under his arm. He let out a deep sigh, realizing the lad was a junkie, and nudged him again, pulling out a penlight and setting a basic exam to see if he needed to call an ambulance. His bodily responses were still well within safe ranges, if on the slow side, and eventually the kid started swatting at him sluggishly and trying to talk, reassuring Greg that he was alright for the moment. Greg nods and ignores the weak slaps.

        “That’s it lad, you’re ok, you’re ok now. What’s your name?” This garnered him a hazy blink and a slurred ‘fuck off’ in a surprisingly deep voice for such a young face. Greg shook his head and asked again.

        “G’way….Le’ve me ‘lone…” He shoved at Greg again and Greg grabbed his arms. “None of that now, Lad, I need your name.”

        He got a head shake and a weak kick. “Le’ go! Le’ go!”

        The look on his face hit Greg like a truck. The boy was terrified, and terrified of him. He quickly let him go and eased back a bit, trying to seem safe and reassuring. “I’m DC Greg Lestrade, ok? I’m only here to help you. I just want to know your name so we can talk, ok?”

        Jewel colored eyes scanned over him wildly, and the fear in his face eased a bit. “Sh’rl’ck.”

        It took Greg a moment to decipher the slurring, then he nodded. “Sherlock… Sherlock, are you cold? I’ve got a scarf in my car if you need.”

        After receiving a slow nod he ran to his car and back as fast as possible, digging out the nice blue scarf he’d gotten as a Christmas present but rarely used, as he wasn’t the sort to wear fancy, unnecessary things. He held it to Sherlock, and was granted with his head tipping back in silent permission, so he wrapped it gently around Sherlock’s neck and steps back again. All his training and common sense told Greg not to trust a junkie and take them inside, but he was just a kid, dirty, too thin, and clearly freezing. Greg became a cop to help people, and he wasn’t going to ignore someone who needed his help. “I live right here, would you like to come in and get something to eat?”

       He can see Sherlock fighting the desire to come in, be warm, and eat, his fear getting in the way, and pulls out his badge. “I promise nothing will happen. I’m one of the good guys. You need some help Sherlock. You need to eat something at least.”

       Sherlock finally, reluctantly agrees, and allows Greg to help him up, slide his arm over his shoulders, and support him all the way inside. He helped Sherlock fall onto the couch and goes to see what he has in the fridge, putting something on quickly and heading off to fetch a couple of blankets and pillows to make up the couch. As he fixes the couch into a decent bed, Sherlock walks around unsteadily, looking over everything. “Wife…. You’ve… you’ve a wife?”

       Greg nods absently. “She’s off with her friends to some Lady’s Weekend, they have one about once a month. Here you are, you can crash here for the night.”

       Sherlock sits down gracelessly and studies him as he goes off to finish cooking, fixing two plates and carrying them over, then fixing some tea, adding cream and sugar as Sherlock directs, and settling in his armchair to eat. He tries making small talk with Sherlock, who’s not very talkative in general. Eventually he gives up and switches on the TV to watch and let Sherlock work on his plate in peace. After Greg cleaned up he dug out something small enough to pass for pajamas and offered them to Sherlock, with an offer to run his clothes through the wash and let him have a hot shower.

      Sherlock accepts and Greg shows him how the shower works, as his flat was wired up a bit weird, showed him where everything was and left the room promising to have his clothes clean and dry by morning. He spent the time Sherlock was in the shower finding clothes too small for him in decent shape, and a small bag, running all of it and a blanket and small pillow through the wash after Sherlock settled onto the couch for the night.

      He packed the bag once everything was clean, checked the state of sherlock’s shoes, and throws in a few snacks that’ll keep for a while, just knowing Sherlock didn’t have access to much at the moment, and knowing he wasn’t likely to stay past the morning, and wanting to be sure he’d be ok for a while. Normally he only saw the aftermath of kids like Sherlock, and it broke his heart every time. This time, he had a chance to help, maybe even save this one, and he had no idea how, but he was determined to do something to help. He secreted a few bucks into the pocket of the jacket, hoping against his own common sense it would be used for something sensible or necessary.

     He sat down and wrote a note to Sherlock, telling him to keep the clothes, the pajamas, the bag, the scarf, everything. He told him to come back if he needed anything, he’d keep his couch open, no questions asked, and that there was a few pounds included, enough to but a coffee, get him a bite to eat, but emphasizing it wasn’t a lot. He thought a moment, then marked down his cell number, home phone, how to reach him at the yard, and his badge number, promising to be there whenever Sherlock needs him, and pinned the note onto the bag, leaving it by the couch. Sherlock was sleeping restlessly, torso wrapped tightly in the blanket, a leg hanging off the couch, the other poking over the arm of the couch, on arm over the back. He twitched and shifted, and Greg frowned, taking a moment to adjust his blanket and settle him carefully, trying hard not to wake him.

     Greg headed to his own bed and lay awake for another hour or so, trying not to worry over the boy passed out on the couch, until he himself passed out from exhaustion. His alarm went off early in the morning and he groaned, sitting up and smacking around to kill it. The flat was silent, and Greg took a moment to focus and wake up properly, before sighing and hauling himself out of bed, shuffling to the living room to confirm that yes, Sherlock was long gone, and had taken the bag with him. Greg nods, sighs, and simply showers and gets ready for work, trying not to worry about Sherlock.

     After all, he wasn’t going to see him again, and if he did, he’d probably be a body he was trying to investigate. Sherlock was a junkie, and just because he let Greg help, doesn’t mean Greg saved him. That just wasn’t how things worked.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg runs into Sherlock again and manages to get him to stick around this time, garnering the attention of someone powerful.

Chapter Two

                It took a lot of hard work, but Gregory Lestrade was rising quickly as a brilliant investigator. Two years after meeting Sherlock, Greg had made Detective Sergeant, and was getting known for his case work. His wife and he moved to a nicer flat, and all in all, Greg thought his marriage, his job, and his life in general were going pretty well. He hadn’t heard from Sherlock since he went to bed that night, and while he thought about him occasionally, for the most part he’d put him out of his mind.

                Out of his mind until the day he was standing over a blond man lying dead from a hit and run, with the DI he was assigned to behind police tape, only to have a familiar, scrawny form come barreling into their crime scene, shouting that it was a planned murder and not an accident, and the memory of his first encounter with Sherlock slammed back into his mind.

               Before Greg could get over to the lad, the DCI on scene, Matthews, had grabbed him, pulling out his cuffs. “That a confession, Boy? Were you high when you did it? Guilt too much for you when you sobered up?”

               Sherlock snarled at him and tried to twist out of his grasp. “Are the Detectives of Scotland Yard that thick? He was hit with a car, which I _do not have_ , and he was not robbed! If I’d murdered him while high, would you not expect me to take everything I could to feed my addiction? Let go of me!”

               Lestrade reaches them as Sherlock managed to squirm free and grabbed Sherlock’s arm. “Sherlock, what are you doing here? This is a crime scene!”

               Sherlock glowered at him. “I’m _aware_ of what it is. I saw it happen, and I saw the driver aim for him. I can give you a description of car and driver.”

               Matthews interrupted, glaring at Lestrade so furiously, Lestrade could already hear the new hole he was going to be torn, and spat. “What makes you think we can take a junkie’s word as witness to a crime? You’re hardly reliable.”

              Sherlock’s tone was sharp as he addressed Matthews. “Just because I’ve been arrested on drug charges before doesn’t make me a junky, or unreliable. Just because _you’ve_ arrested me before doesn’t mean that you can assume I’m a criminal!”

                He turned back to Lestrade, frowning. “I didn’t have anything to do with it, but I did see it.”

                Lestrade sighs and pulls out a notebook. “Alright, go ahead and tell me everything, and then stay put so we can get it all in properly.”

                He makes notes and listens intently as Sherlock rattled off every detail of the car, it’s plates, and the driver, adding that the driver and victim were related, and that it was clearly murder, and Lestrade shakes his head. “You can’t decide if it’s murder or not, we do. But yeah, it’s murder. Now, back of my car, and _wait there_ , or Matthews is going to try and arrest you again.”

                He waited for Sherlock to obey his command, hen walked back to the body, and looked up at Matthews, who was red-faced. “How do you know a druggie?”

                Lestrade sighs and explains, “I met him before, a couple years back, and gave him a place to stay. Haven’t seen him since, but I remember him.”

                They get through the rest of processing the scene and the witnesses, and Matthews orders Lestrade to take Sherlock back to The Yard, and Lestrade drops into his car where, by some miracle, Sherlock is still sitting in the backseat, hands steepled in front of his face. He doesn’t react in anyway the entire ride there, until Lestrade reaches back and nudges him. “Sherlock, Lad, are you alright?”

                Sherlock scoffs. “I’m fine, Lestrade right? I’m fine, just arrest the victim’s son. He murdered him with his car.”

                Lestrade frowns. “Hold on, how do you know it was the son? Or that he has a son?”

                He ends up taking a couple pages of notes as Sherlock rambles on about everything that he saw, and what he then ‘deduced’ about the situation in the few seconds between seeing the car aim for the victim, and seeing the car strike the man and drive off. Sherlock goes to walk off as soon as he finishes talking, but Lestrade catches his arm. “Hold on, Lad… Where are you going? Have you got somewhere to go for the night?”

               Sherlock gives him a scathing look and tries to pull away again. “Are you that dense?”

               “Look… my wife won’t mind if you stay with us awhile. You’re a clever man, and the Yard could use someone like you. If…” Sherlock cuts him off with a snort. “What makes you think I want to work with Scotland Yard.”

               Lestrade gets a brilliant idea. “You could train up on old cases to be a detective. You’ve got a knack for it, and you seemed to enjoy it.”

               He could see Sherlock was intrigued and he kept pushing on. “Stay with me for awhile, get clean, and stay clean, and I’ll talk to my higher ups about allowing you some access to see what you can do. If you prove yourself, they might keep you on. You have a future, Sherlock, and a great one.”

               He knew the moment he won, but Sherlock put on a show like he was doing Greg some big favor. “I suppose I could stay with you awhile… If Scotland Yard needs my help so badly…”

              He trails off and Greg nods, escorting him to the car. “Someone take that bag from you?”

              Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I can’t walk around with it all day, I’ll get jumped. It’s safe, and hidden, so it’s there when I come back.”

              Lestrade follows his directions and retrieves the bag before bringing him to his flat. He calls out to his wife as he walks in and she pokes her head out of her ‘craft room’. Greg explains they’re going to have a guest for awhile, and she scowls at him, blowing up about how he should have called ahead and let her know, and he should have asked her about it and let her have a say in whether or not they take on ‘some charity case’ before disappearing again and slamming the door. Sherlock gives Lestrade a long look. “She’s not the type to be married.”

             Greg waves it off and sighs. “She’s right, I should have talked it over with her, or at least given her a head’s up. I’ll get it smoothed over tonight and make it up to her, starting with her favorite dinner… Anything you don’t eat?”

             He pulls out a takeout menu and hands it to him, then goes around grabbing everything to make the couch up for him again as Sherlock reads it over. Greg calls for delivery, digs out the ‘pajamas’ he loaned Sherlock the last time, and sends Sherlock off to the showers. He spends hours that night trying to his way back into her good graces, and ends up in a sleeping bag on the floor in her craft room after running all of Sherlock’s things through the wash for him.

            It took two weeks for Sherlock to go through detox and actually get clean. Two weeks of Lestrade using his sick leave to stay with Sherlock as his wife decided to go stay with family so she wouldn’t have to ‘see his awful face, or deal with the strung out mess on her couch’, but he got him through it eventually, and the two of them slept for almost a full day after that. Greg goes back to work as soon as Sherlock doesn’t need any help or care, and goes straight to the Chief Superintendent to talk about Sherlock Holmes possibly working with the Yard.

           He managed to negotiate to allow Sherlock to come in and show them what he could do after being clean for three months. If they were impressed, they would discuss opening a position for him to work with the Yard in the future, and Greg was excited to tell Sherlock the good news. He started walking home as his wife took the car with her, when a long black car pulled up beside him. A door with a heavily tinted window swung open and a petite woman sat inside, tapping away at her phone. “Detective Sergeant Gregory Lestrade? Some of your higher ups need to speak with you. Do get in.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg meets another Holmes

** Chapter Three **

                Gregory stares at the woman in the car, then snorts and starts walking away. “No thank you. If my higher ups wants to speak with me, then they call me to their office.”

                She gives him an unimpressed look. “And do you think there’s no one higher up than the brass? Get in.”

                Greg stops walking and just stares at her for a long moment. “No, I don’t think I will.”

                He keeps walking and the woman rolls her eyes, the car keeping pace with him, and the woman tapping away at her phone until he stops again. “Why do you want me to get into the car so badly.”

                “I’ve told you why. Get in the car.”

                “Tell me what it’s about then. Maybe then I’ll consider it.” He crosses his arms and stares at the woman. In response she lowers the phone and stares at him. “It’s regarding one Sherlock Holmes.”

                Greg got into the car.

                For the whole ride he kept trying to interrogate the woman about who it was, how they knew about Sherlock, and why they wanted to discuss him, but she ignored him he entire time, still tapping away at her phone maddeningly. They pull up outside of an old building, and she opens the door for him. “My employer is waiting, follow me, don’t wander off.”

                He sticks close behind her as they wind their way through the building, up to one of the upper levels, where it seemed the entire floor was dedicated to one person’s private office, meeting rooms, and what have you. There was no name on the door, no indication of who had sent for him, and Greg started to feel nervous as he was escorted through the door.

                A rather impressive looking man sat behind the desk, in a perfectly tailored and pressed suit, neatly styled copper hair, and a neutral expression. His ice blue eyes fixed on Greg and Greg had the distinct impression this man knew everything about him. It was rather unnerving. Greg straightened his back and stared him down. The tiniest of smiles graced the man’s face and he waved a hand at the empty chair in front of his desk. “Gregory Lestrade. Please, do sit down. We have a lot to talk about.”            

                Given the distinct impression that this wasn’t concerning his job, and that he was being judged for something, Greg continued to stare him down as he took his seat. He crossed his arms and settled in comfortably, slumping a little on the instinct that it would annoy the man behind the desk. The miniscule smile turned into a stern frown. Greg smirked a little. “Do we? What do we have to talk about? I don’t even know who you are.”

                The mand steepled his hands together, in a pose so familiar, and done so automatically, Greg immediately thought of Sherlock and his habit of doing he same. “No, you don’t. I occupy a minor position in he British Government, and one of my duties is overseeing Scotland Yard. I understand you have spoken to your superiors about bringing in one Sherlock Holmes as a possible consultant.”

                “I have yes, and they seem amenable to it. He’s a good lad, just made some bad choices and he’s smart. He’s meant for this kind of work. Why?” He scowls at the man, who leaned forward slightly.

                “Sherlock Holmes is extremely intelligent, yes. But he’s not all you think he is. I understand you’ve appointed yourself as caretaker for the lad?”

                “What does that have to do anything?” Greg leaned forward a little himself and stares him down.

                “I would like regular updates on Sherlock Holmes. Information on him, and updates on his current state. This is vitally important.” The man sat back again, with the self-assured air of a man who is never told ‘no’.

                “And why would I do that? I still don’t know who you are, or what you want with him.”

                There was a pause, and Greg was scrutinized intently. After a moment the man nods, looking a little smug. “Name your price. Anything you want, any amount of money you want, in exchange for information.”

                Greg stared at him for a moment, then shakes his head, snapping out a ‘No way in hell’ without even thinking about what to say to refuse. The man blinks at him, then nods, touching something on his desk that Greg can’t see.

                “Very well then. My assistant will show you out.” As he finished speaking, the door opened and the woman from before stood in the doorway. Greg stood up and silently follows her, eager to get out of there. He followed her all the way outside, and looked around for a cab, ignoring the sleek black car she tried to direct him to. He managed to flag one down, but it was waved off by the assistant before Greg could grab the handle. He frowned at her and she simply gestured to the car. “We’ll take you home, and then you’ll be left alone.”

                He shook his head. “I really don’t want you knowing where I live.”

                “We already know where you live, Detective Sergeant Gregory Lestrade. Get in the car please.” Greg had a feeling that he would not win this fight, and stiffly go in the car. The ride was short, and Greg stepped out in front of his home. He hurried inside, the car pulled away, and Sherlock was staring at the door, hands steepled. Greg rubbed a hand over his face.

                “Y’know, I just met someone who does that same thing with their hands. He wa-“

                “I’m aware of who you just met. What did he offer you?” Sherlock’s tone was flat, his face completely neutral, and he held perfectly still. Greg was still a little unsettled as Sherlock’s ability to ‘deduce’ his day in seconds.

                “You know him? Mind telling me his name? He never did give it.” Greg shut the door and leaned against It. Sherlock’s hands un-steepled and he looked up at him.

                “His name is Mycroft. He is, unfortunately, my older brother. What did he offer you?” Greg blinked once, twice, then shook his head a little.

“You’ve an older brother? In government? What’s he doing leaving you on the streets?” Greg knew the posh, influential types liked to keep their black sheep hidden, or comfortably supplied with their vices. Sherlock shook his head.

“He’s not _in_ government, he _is_ the government. Now, answer mine first.” Greg sighs a little.

“Anything I wanted. Told me to name my price.” Sherlock snorted.

“And you turned it down? We could have split it. Think it through next time.” Greg crosses over to his favorite beat up armchair and drops into it.

“How did you know I turned it down?” This prompts an eye roll from Sherlock.

“You returned home. And as to my state of homelessness, that is my choice. My brother would have me in rehab, or some safehouse, but I hate it. He’s good, but so am I. The only thing he could do was cut off my funds, which he has decided, after past experience, not to, and to surveil me as best he could.” Greg took a moment to process the influx of information and nodded.

“Right, well, I’ll get dinner on, shall I?” Sherlock nods and curls up in a loose ball of gangly limbs in the corner of the couch, turning his focus on some drama show. Greg hauled himself up and threw together a dinner for the two of them.


End file.
